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达芬奇密码|The Da Vinci Code
第83章|Chapter 82
属类：
双语小说
【分类】世界名著
-[作者: 丹-布朗]
阅读：[25794]
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兰登和索菲、提彬三人从"美洲虎"豪华车里钻出来，走到圣殿教堂内通道，他注意到他手腕上的"米奇老鼠"牌手表显示将近七点半了。这三人，犹如在迷宫里行走一般，他们绕过许多建筑物，才来到圣殿教堂外面的小院里。那粗糙的石头，在雨中泛着青光，一群鸽子，在他们头顶的建筑里"咕咕"地歌唱。
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伦敦古老的圣殿教堂全部是用法国卡昂地区出产的石头建造的。这是一幢引人注目的圆形建筑，有着撼人心魄的华美外表，中间一座塔楼，塔楼的旁边有个突出来的正殿，教堂看起来不像是供众人崇拜的地方，倒像是一个军事据点。耶路撒冷大主教赫拉克利乌斯曾于1185 年2 月10 日献祭与此，从此，圣殿教堂经历了八百多年政治斗争的风风雨雨，其中历经了伦敦大火灾，第一次世界大战。只是到了1940 年，它才严重被损于德国纳粹空军投放的燃烧弹。战争结束后，它又恢复了原来的模样，重现了昔日的辉煌。
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循环往复，如此而已。兰登想，平生第一次对建筑物仰慕起来。这幢建筑显得既粗犷又朴素，更容易使人想起罗马的圣安杰罗城堡，而不是造型精美的希腊帕特农神庙。不过，不幸的是，那矮而窄的、向右面延伸出来的附属建筑物却令人觉得十分别扭，尽管它在企图掩饰其原始建筑的异教建筑风格上并没起到多大的作用。
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"今天星期六，我们是来早了点。"提彬摇摇晃晃地走到大门前："所以我想现在什么事情都不用做了。"教堂的入口处是一块凹进去的石头，里面嵌着一扇巨大的木门。在木门的左边，看起来完全不协调地挂着一块公告牌，上面写满了音乐会的日程安排以及宗教仪式的通知。提彬读着公告牌上的告示，眉头紧皱起来："他们要再过两个小时才向游客开放哩。"他走到门前，试着想把它打开，然而那扇门却纹丝不动。于是他把耳朵贴在木板上倾听。过了一会，他抽身走了回来，一脸诡秘的神色，他指着公告牌说："罗伯特，你去查查宗教仪式的日程安排，行么？这个星期由谁来主持仪式的呢？"
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在教堂里面，一位祭台助手用吸尘器差不多将所有祭祀用的坐垫上的灰尘吸完，这时他听到有人在敲礼拜堂的门。他充耳不闻，不加理会。哈维。诺尔斯神父自己有钥匙，再说还要等两个小时才能开门呢。敲门的人可能是位好奇的游客，或者是个穷人吧。祭台助手继续用吸尘器吸坐垫里的灰尘，然而敲门声依然不断。难道你不识字？门上不是清清楚楚地写着星期六教堂要到九点半才开门吗？祭台助手依旧忙着干他的事情。
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突然，敲门声变成了沉重的撞击声，仿佛有人在用铁棒砸门。这名年轻人关掉吸尘器，怒气冲冲地朝门口奔去。他从里头一把将门"哐"的拉开，看到三人站在门外。是游客吧？他咕哝着说："我们九点半才开门哩。"
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那个身材矮胖的男人，很明显是他们里头的领军人物，他拄着拐杖走上前来，说："我是雷。提彬爵士。"听他的口音，倒像是一位颇有身份的正宗英国人。"你肯定知道，我是陪克里斯托夫。雷恩四世及其夫人一道来的。"他走到一边，夸张地朝站在他们背后的那对模样俊秀的夫妇挥了挥手。女人看上去很温和，长着一头茂密的暗红色头发。男人个子挺拔，黑色头发，看上去似乎有点眼熟。
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那名祭台助手一时不知如何应付。克里斯托夫。雷恩爵士是圣殿教堂最有名望的赞助者，在圣殿教堂遭受伦敦大火灾的侵袭后，他曾采取了所有的修复措施。不过他早在18世纪初期就已经去世了。"嗯……能有幸认识你吗？"
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拄拐杖的男人皱着眉头："还算你识相，不过年轻人，你好像不太相信我们啊。诺尔斯神父呢？"
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"今天星期六，他要等会儿才来。"
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这位行动有些不便的男人更加不高兴了："就这样向我们表示感谢呐。他向我们保证，说会在这里等我们哩。看来我们只好不管他了。何况我们也不会呆上很久。"
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祭台助手仍然将身子堵在门口："对不起，你说什么呆不上多久？"
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这位客人的眼神一下子尖锐起来，他俯身向前，低声说着话，似乎是为了避免让大家尴尬。"年轻人，很显然，你是新来的吧？克里斯托夫。雷恩爵士的后代每年都会带一些他老人家的骨灰，撒在圣殿教堂里的内殿里。这是他临终的遗愿。没有谁特别喜欢到这个地方来，但我们又有什么办法呢？"祭台助手在这里呆了数年，但还是第一次听说有这回事。"你们还是等到九点半再说吧。教堂门还没开，再说我还没打扫干净呢。"拄拐杖的人怒视着他："年轻人，要说这房子里还有什么东西用得上你的吸尘器的话，那就是放在这位女土袋子里的他老人家的骨灰了。""难道我应该对你说对不起吗？"
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"雷恩夫人。"拄拐杖的人说："你能不能把骨灰盒拿出来，给这位粗鲁的年轻人瞧瞧？"
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女人犹豫了一会，然后，似乎是刚从梦里醒来，她把手伸进背心口袋，取出了一个小小的、外面包了一层布的圆柱体。
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"喏，你看啊。"拄拐杖的男人喝道："现在，你要么成全他老人家的遗愿，让我们把他的骨灰撒在礼拜堂里，要不然我们就去告诉诺尔斯神父。"祭台助手犹豫起来，他深知诺尔斯神父一向严格要求大家遵守教堂的规矩；而且，更重要的是，他也深知神父的臭脾气。万一怠慢了这座历史悠久的神龛，他可吃罪不起。诺尔斯神父也许只是把这些家族成员要来的事情给忘了。如果是这样，那将他们赶走，肯定要比让他们进来冒的风险还大。不管怎样，他们说不用很长时间。那么让他们进来，又有多大的害处呢？
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祭台助手走到一边，让这三人进来时，他敢说雷恩夫妇面对眼前的情景，神情如他一样的茫然。他不安地望着他们走出了他的视线，然后回去继续干他的杂活。
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当三人来到教堂深处，兰登勉强地笑了笑。"雷爵士。"他压低嗓门说："你真会撒谎啊。"
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提彬双眼闪烁："别忘了我是牛津剧院俱乐部的成员。他们至今还在谈论我扮演的裘利斯。恺撒一角呢。我敢肯定，还没有哪位演员能比我更尽心尽力地表演此剧第三场的第三幕哩。"兰登回头瞥了他一眼："我还以为，恺撒是在那一场就死去了呢。"
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提彬得意地笑起来："是的，可我摔倒时长袍被撕开了。这样，我不得不脚尖朝上在台上躺了半小时。但即便如此，我连动也没动一下。我告诉你，我可聪明着呢。""对不起我倒没发现呢。"兰登奉承了一句。
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这群人穿过矩形的附属建筑物，朝通往主教堂的拱门走去。兰登对教堂单调而朴素的建筑风格感到十分惊奇。尽管祭坛的构造颇像一座流线型的基督教堂，然而它的外表却显得刻板而冷酷，看不到一丁点传统的装饰。
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"太没意思了。"兰登低声地说。
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提彬咯咯地笑了。"这就是英国的国教。英国人在此啜饮宗教的琼浆。没有什么能让他们在不幸中迷失方向。"索菲经过宽大的由此可走到教堂圆形区域的入口。
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"那边看起来有点像军事要塞哩。"她笑声地说。
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兰登对此表示同意。即使从这里看过去，四面的墙壁也显得特别的坚固。
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"别忘了，圣殿骑士可是尚武之人。"提彬在一边提醒他们。他那铝制的拐杖，在这方空间里发出清脆的回响。"这是个军事宗教占主导地位的国家，教堂就是他们的军事据点和银行。""银行？"索菲瞥了他一眼，问道。
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"天哪，是这样的。圣殿骑士们创造了现代银行的运作理念。对欧洲的达官贵人而言，携带金银出门旅游是非常危险的，因此圣殿骑士允许这些贵族将金子存进离他们最近的圣殿教堂；然后，他们可以从遍布欧洲各地的圣殿教堂里将它们取出来。他们只需要有关的凭证。"他眨了眨眼："并支付一笔佣金就可以了。这些教堂，就是最初的自动取款机。"提彬指着一扇沾满灰尘的玻璃窗，早晨的阳光，正透过窗户，照在一位骑着玫瑰色的骏马、一身白色装束的骑士的塑像上，反射出清凌凌的光。"那是阿拉尼斯。马塞尔，12 纪初这座圣殿教堂的主人。他和他的继承者当时实际上占据了王国第一男爵的席位。"兰登有点吃惊："王国第一男爵？"
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提彬点点头："有人说，圣殿教堂的主人，比国王本人的影响还大呢。"他们来到圆形房屋外面，提彬回头看了看远处那位还在摆弄着吸尘器的祭台助手，低声对索菲说："你知道吗？圣殿骑士们四处躲藏时，据说圣杯曾在这教堂里藏了一夜。你能想象到整整放了四抽屉的《圣杯文献》竟然会在这里与抹大拉的玛利亚的尸骨摆在一起吗？一想到此，我就不禁不寒而栗。"等他们走进那个圆形的大厅，兰登也觉得浑身起了鸡皮疙瘩。他的眼睛循着这个大房间用灰白色石头砌成的圆圈看去，顿时被一些雕刻的怪兽、妖魔鬼怪以及因痛苦而扭曲并全朝这里怒目而视的人脸吸引住了。在这些雕刻品的下面，有一张长椅围着整个房间绕了一圈。
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"是圆形剧场啊。"兰登轻声地说。
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提彬举起一根拐杖，指着房间尽头的左边，接着又指着右边。这时兰登已经看到了它们。
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十尊圣殿骑士石像。
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左边五尊，右边五尊。
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这些真人般大小的雕像，仰卧在地面上，摆出一副祥和的姿态。这些骑士个个披盔戴甲，剑盾在手。兰登有点不快，觉得似乎有人趁骑士们睡着时偷偷溜进来，将石膏泼在他们身上。所有的雕像都严重的风化了，然而每尊雕像看上去却是那么的独特--他们穿着不同的盔甲，腿和胳膊都摆出截然不同的姿势，不同的面部表情，还有他们盾牌的记号也迥然不同。
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在伦敦葬了一位教皇为他主持葬礼的骑士。
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兰登又向圆形房间里头迈进了几步，身子忍不住发抖。
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应该是这个地方了。
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"Fleet Street?" Langdon asked, eyeing Teabing in the back of the limo. There’s a crypt on FleetStreet? So far, Leigh was being playfully cagey about where he thought they would find the"knight’s tomb," which, according to the poem, would provide the password for opening thesmaller cryptex.
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Teabing grinned and turned to Sophie. "Miss Neveu, give the Harvard boy one more shot at theverse, will you?"Sophie fished in her pocket and pulled out the black cryptex, which was wrapped in the vellum.
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Everyone had decided to leave the rosewood box and larger cryptex behind in the plane’sstrongbox, carrying with them only what they needed, the far more portable and discreet blackcryptex. Sophie unwrapped the vellum and handed the sheet to Langdon.
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Although Langdon had read the poem several times onboard the jet, he had been unable to extractany specific location. Now, as he read the words again, he processed them slowly and carefully,hoping the pentametric rhythms would reveal a clearer meaning now that he was on the ground.
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In London lies a knight a Pope interred.
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His labor’s fruit a Holy wrath incurred.
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You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.
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It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb.
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The language seemed simple enough. There was a knight buried in London. A knight who laboredat something that angered the Church. A knight whose tomb was missing an orb that should bepresent. The poem’s final reference—Rosy flesh and seeded womb—was a clear allusion to MaryMagdalene, the Rose who bore the seed of Jesus.
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Despite the apparent straightforwardness of the verse, Langdon still had no idea who this knightwas or where he was buried. Moreover, once they located the tomb, it sounded as if they would besearching for something that was absent. The orb that ought be on his tomb?
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"No thoughts?" Teabing clucked in disappointment, although Langdon sensed the Royal Historianwas enjoying being one up. "Miss Neveu?"She shook her head.
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"What would you two do without me?" Teabing said. "Very well, I will walk you through it. It’squite simple really. The first line is the key. Would you read it please?"Langdon read aloud. " ’In London lies a knight a Pope interred.’ ""Precisely. A knight a Pope interred." He eyed Langdon. "What does that mean to you?"Langdon shrugged. "A knight buried by a Pope? A knight whose funeral was presided over by aPope?"Teabing laughed loudly. "Oh, that’s rich. Always the optimist, Robert. Look at the second line.
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This knight obviously did something that incurred the Holy wrath of the Church. Think again.
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Consider the dynamic between the Church and the Knights Templar. A knight a Pope interred?""A knight a Pope killed?" Sophie asked.
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Teabing smiled and patted her knee. "Well done, my dear. A knight a Pope buried. Or killed."Langdon thought of the notorious Templar round-up in 1307—unlucky Friday thethirteenth—when Pope Clement killed and interred hundreds of Knights Templar. "But there mustbe endless graves of ’knights killed by Popes.’ ""Aha, not so! "Teabing said. "Many of them were burned at the stake and tossed unceremoniouslyinto the Tiber River. But this poem refers to a tomb. A tomb in London. And there are few knightsburied in London." He paused, eyeing Langdon as if waiting for light to dawn. Finally he huffed.
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"Robert, for heaven’s sake! The church built in London by the Priory’s military arm—the KnightsTemplar themselves!""The Temple Church?" Langdon drew a startled breath. "It has a crypt?""Ten of the most frightening tombs you will ever see."Langdon had never actually visited the Temple Church, although he’d come across numerousreferences in his Priory research. Once the epicenter of all Templar/Priory activities in the UnitedKingdom, the Temple Church had been so named in honor of Solomon’s Temple, from which theKnights Templar had extracted their own title, as well as the Sangreal documents that gave them alltheir influence in Rome. Tales abounded of knights performing strange, secretive rituals within theTemple Church’s unusual sanctuary. "The Temple Church is on Fleet Street?""Actually, it’s just off Fleet Street on Inner Temple Lane." Teabing looked mischievous. "I wantedto see you sweat a little more before I gave it away.""Thanks.""Neither of you has ever been there?"Sophie and Langdon shook their heads.
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"I’m not surprised," Teabing said. "The church is hidden now behind much larger buildings. Fewpeople even know it’s there. Eerie old place. The architecture is Pagan to the core."Sophie looked surprised. "Pagan?""Pantheonically pagan!" Teabing exclaimed. "The church is round. The Templars ignored thetraditional Christian cruciform layout and built a perfectly circular church in honor of the sun." Hiseyebrows did a devilish dance. "A not so subtle howdy-do to the boys in Rome. They might as wellhave resurrected Stonehenge in downtown London."Sophie eyed Teabing. "What about the rest of the poem?"The historian’s mirthful air faded. "I’m not sure. It’s puzzling. We will need to examine each of theten tombs carefully. With luck, one of them will have a conspicuously absent orb."Langdon realized how close they really were. If the missing orb revealed the password, they wouldbe able to open the second cryptex. He had a hard time imagining what they might find inside.
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Langdon eyed the poem again. It was like some kind of primordial crossword puzzle. A five-letterword that speaks of the GRAIL? On the plane, they had already tried all the obviouspasswords—GRAIL, GRAAL, GREAL, VENUS, MARIA, JESUS, SARAH—but the cylinder hadnot budged. Far too obvious. Apparently there existed some other five-letter reference to the Rose’sseeded womb. The fact that the word was eluding a specialist like Leigh Teabing signified toLangdon that it was no ordinary Grail reference.
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"Sir Leigh?" Rémy called over his shoulder. He was watching them in the rearview mirror throughthe open divider. "You said Fleet Street is near Blackfriars Bridge?""Yes, take Victoria Embankment.""I’m sorry. I’m not sure where that is. We usually go only to the hospital."Teabing rolled his eyes at Langdon and Sophie and grumbled, "I swear, sometimes it’s like baby-sitting a child. One moment please. Help yourself to a drink and savory snacks." He left them,clambering awkwardly toward the open divider to talk to Rémy.
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Sophie turned to Langdon now, her voice quiet. "Robert, nobody knows you and I are in England."Langdon realized she was right. The Kent police would tell Fache the plane was empty, and Fachewould have to assume they were still in France. We are invisible. Leigh’s little stunt had just boughtthem a lot of time.
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"Fache will not give up easily," Sophie said. "He has too much riding on this arrest now."Langdon had been trying not to think about Fache. Sophie had promised she would do everythingin her power to exonerate Langdon once this was over, but Langdon was starting to fear it mightnot matter. Fache could easily be pan of this plot. Although Langdon could not imagine theJudicial Police tangled up in the Holy Grail, he sensed too much coincidence tonight to disregardFache as a possible accomplice. Fache is religions, and he is intent on pinning these murders onme. Then again, Sophie had argued that Fache might simply be overzealous to make the arrest.
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After all, the evidence against Langdon was substantial. In addition to Langdon’s name scrawled onthe Louvre floor and in Saunière’s date book, Langdon now appeared to have lied about hismanuscript and then run away. At Sophie’s suggestion.
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"Robert, I’m sorry you’re so deeply involved," Sophie said, placing her hand on his knee. "But I’mvery glad you’re here."The comment sounded more pragmatic than romantic, and yet Langdon felt an unexpected flickerof attraction between them. He gave her a tired smile. "I’m a lot more fun when I’ve slept."Sophie was silent for several seconds. "My grandfather asked me to trust you. I’m glad I listened tohim for once.""Your grandfather didn’t even know me.""Even so, I can’t help but think you’ve done everything he would have wanted. You helped me findthe keystone, explained the Sangreal, told me about the ritual in the basement." She paused.
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"Somehow I feel closer to my grandfather tonight than I have in years. I know he would be happyabout that."In the distance, now, the skyline of London began to materialize through the dawn drizzle. Oncedominated by Big Ben and Tower Bridge, the horizon now bowed to the Millennium Eye—acolossal, ultramodern Ferris wheel that climbed five hundred feet and afforded breathtaking viewsof the city. Langdon had attempted to board it once, but the "viewing capsules" reminded him ofsealed sarcophagi, and he opted to keep his feet on the ground and enjoy the view from the airybanks of the Thames.
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Langdon felt a squeeze on his knee, pulling him back, and Sophie’s green eyes were on him. Herealized she had been speaking to him. "What do you think we should do with the Sangrealdocuments if we ever find them?" she whispered.
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"What I think is immaterial," Langdon said. "Your grandfather gave the cryptex to you, and youshould do with it what your instinct tells you he would want done.""I’m asking for your opinion. You obviously wrote something in that manuscript that made mygrandfather trust your judgment. He scheduled a private meeting with you. That’s rare.""Maybe he wanted to tell me I have it all wrong.""Why would he tell me to find you unless he liked your ideas? In your manuscript, did you supportthe idea that the Sangreal documents should be revealed or stay buried?""Neither. I made no judgment either way. The manuscript deals with the symbology of the sacredfeminine—tracing her iconography throughout history. I certainly didn’t presume to know wherethe Grail is hidden or whether it should ever be revealed.""And yet you’re writing a book about it, so you obviously feel the information should be shared.""There’s an enormous difference between hypothetically discussing an alternate history of Christ,and..." He paused.
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"And what?""And presenting to the world thousands of ancient documents as scientific evidence that the NewTestament is false testimony.""But you told me the New Testament is based on fabrications."Langdon smiled. "Sophie, every faith in the world is based on fabrication. That is the definition offaith—acceptance of that which we imagine to be true, that which we cannot prove. Every religiondescribes God through metaphor, allegory, and exaggeration, from the early Egyptians throughmodern Sunday school. Metaphors are a way to help our minds process the unprocessible. Theproblems arise when we begin to believe literally in our own metaphors.""So you are in favor of the Sangreal documents staying buried forever?""I’m a historian. I’m opposed to the destruction of documents, and I would love to see religiousscholars have more information to ponder the exceptional life of Jesus Christ.""You’re arguing both sides of my question.""Am I? The Bible represents a fundamental guidepost for millions of people on the planet, in muchthe same way the Koran, Torah, and Pali Canon offer guidance to people of other religions. If youand I could dig up documentation that contradicted the holy stories of Islamic belief, Judaic belief,Buddhist belief, pagan belief, should we do that? Should we wave a flag and tell the Buddhists thatwe have proof the Buddha did not come from a lotus blossom? Or that Jesus was not born of aliteral virgin birth? Those who truly understand their faiths understand the stories aremetaphorical."Sophie looked skeptical. "My friends who are devout Christians definitely believe that Christliterally walked on water, literally turned water into wine, and was born of a literal virgin birth.""My point exactly," Langdon said. "Religious allegory has become a part of the fabric of reality.
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And living in that reality helps millions of people cope and be better people.""But it appears their reality is false."Langdon chuckled. "No more false than that of a mathematical cryptographer who believes in theimaginary number ’i’ because it helps her break codes."Sophie frowned. "That’s not fair."A moment passed.
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"What was your question again?" Langdon asked.
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"I can’t remember."He smiled. "Works every time."
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